


Telling the Bees

by iloveyoudie



Category: Endeavour (TV), Inspector Morse (TV), Lewis (TV)
Genre: Beekeeping, Bisexual Morse, Canonical Character Death, Decades Long Romance, Friends to Lovers, Friendship, Gen, Life Partners, M/M, Open Relationships, Sad
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-11
Updated: 2018-06-11
Packaged: 2019-05-20 19:40:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 6
Words: 3,545
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14900739
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iloveyoudie/pseuds/iloveyoudie
Summary: Wearing white coveralls and a net veil, Max hunched and murmured over a single bee hive. Morse couldn’t hear what he was saying and he daren’t approach so he simply observed from the back door, content to do so.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Because we all deserve Max Debryn the beekeeper.

On a sunny spring day Morse let himself into Max Debryn’s house with his own key. Months of impromptu after-work drinks had led to dinners accompanying those drinks. Home cooked meal invitations followed and soon those evenings whiled away into late night chats. The pair of men would indulge with wine and cigarettes, becoming engrossed in whatever conversation topic they’d settled upon. Eventually there were quiet nights of staying in and they each discovered the simple comfort of just having someone _there_. More often than not it was quiet reading while a record played until one or the both of them dozed off.  

The positions they found themselves in were not easy, intertwined as they were professionally, but the good came with the bad. In those times that Morse broke, when he needed someone, anyone, to just be there and listen it had been Max. When Max himself found his days were a bit more than he could handle, rare as it was, Morse was quiet and respectful company. When things cut a little too close to home, when neither wanted to talk but they needed someone there, they were. When it was needed they each offered words, advice or admonishment, and neither were the type to mince them. They both stuck by through rough cases, rough relationships, and Morse’s much too common brushes with death. The men didn’t always agree, both too stubborn for their own good, but even their clashes were essential. They helped one another as much as they could and discovered over time which boundaries could and couldn’t be tested.

Morse and Debryn had built a valued friendship.

One evening after a sprint from the car in the rain that left them both soaked to the bone, Morse had plucked Max’s foggy glasses off of his nose right inside the front door and kissed him. They were both wet to the skin with dripping hair and water sliding down to hang in heavy droplets off of their noses. It wasn’t glamorous or even comfortable but both men flushed with a radiant heat when their bodies pressed close. For all it seemed like a long time coming, Morse’s kiss was shy and tentative and Max seemed caught off guard by it. He gasped lightly against Morse’s lips and braced himself against the man’s chest. As his fingers spread over Morse’s sternum he felt the other’s heartbeat pounding just as hard and fast as his own and Max was undone. When they finally parted minutes later Morse could only smile because he was sure it was the first and only time he’d ever seen the doctor speechless.

And now on this beautiful off-day Morse was letting himself in with a key that he’d been given for that express purpose. The neat little house was all splotches of rich color as sunlight dappled through the open windows with a fragrant breeze. Morse dropped his keys in the bowl as second nature now and the bottle he’d brought was left on the hall table as he moved deeper into the home. Silence on the first floor told him that Max was elsewhere and Morse pursued the distant sounds of the doctor’s voice coming from the back yard.

The garden was larger than you’d expect for a house this size and enclosed with high shrubs that gave it near complete privacy. There was a modest sized Hawthorn in one corner giving partial shade to a well curated plot of medicinal flowers and herbs. Max currently occupied the other side. Wearing white coveralls and a net veil, he hunched and murmured over a single bee hive. Morse couldn’t hear what he was saying and he daren’t approach so he simply observed from the back door, content to do so, until Max felt eyes on him and finally made his way back.

“Bees?” Morse smiled and his eyes slid over Max as he approached as he searched for any sign of lingering winged friends. He straightened from where he slouched into the door frame and extended an arm to the other man without thinking about it.

“Don’t tempt me into a lecture on the long and interesting history of honey and uses, Morse,” Max smirked as he tugged his gloves off and tossed them onto a bench beside the door.

Morse moved to lift the beekeeping veil from Max’s face when the man was close enough and as he tucked it up and over the helmet he leaned in to murmur, _“ It_ _is the honey in my veins that makes my blood thicker, and my soul quieter.”_

Max tilted his head in return and smiled small. His eyes flashed in that clever way but he didn’t close the gap between them, _“Although eating honey was a very good thing to do, there was a moment just before you began to eat it which was better than when you were, but he didn't know what it was called.”_

Morse turned a very fetching shade of pink and couldn’t suppress a grin. The look in his eyes was enough to make Max’s ears flush in response. Morse had eyes that could be weaponized, wide and earnest and adoring. The anticipation hung just a moment more as they silently searched each other’s faces, eyes eventually always settling on lips before meeting again, and their arms slowly encircled one another and they finally pressed close.

They kissed that afternoon under the arch of the kitchen door until Morse began to laugh against Max’s mouth. He nipped lightly as they broke apart and shook his head, “I can’t believe you quoted _Winnie the Pooh_ at me.”

“Who else to wax wise about honey but an expert?” Max grinned, hands dragging along the other man’s slim waist before he turned and steered Morse into the house without further ado.

“You know, I am actually a bit interested in a lecture on the history of honey..” Morse clarified with a chuckle as he was guided. Finally inside the kitchen, he began unfastening the white coveralls from around Max’s neck in an attempt to get the shapeless fabric off of him as quickly as possible. The veil and helmet were already gone.

“Could take all night,” Max warned with a lift of chin to allow the coveralls to be undone and shed, “The history of apiculture is rather long.”

“It just so happens I’ve the evening off,” Morse said with a casual smile.

“Oh do you?” Max returned the look and played along, “It just so happens that so do I.”


	2. Chapter 2

It was years before Morse asked Max to teach him about tending the bees. He’d achieved a comfortable position in the police and his coppery curls were already turning silver, granting him some measure of clout from colleagues that he’d never quite expected to achieve from such a superficial thing. It wasn’t disinterest that had gotten in the way, it was simply years of too much work, of _living_ , and a priorities list that changed as quickly as the fashion. The hive was also Max’s domain, much like fishing and golf, something that seemed sacred and untouchable. As much as Morse hadn’t asked, Max had never offered.

Both of them were independent and equally committed to their work and to that end they hadn’t ever put a name on the relationship they shared. Max knew better than to expect that Morse’s eye wouldn’t be drawn to every pretty face that crossed his path and Morse never presumed to put the same expectations on Max. They never pressed for information that wasn’t freely offered and there was, admirably, very little jealousy over the years. Jealousy made people do ugly things and neither of them had the time for it. Most people wouldn’t understand the balance they kept and even fewer would ever know. There were simply needs that each man possessed that could not be filled by the other. Neither of them liked to be stifled or messed about and so honesty became an important key. It wasn’t always as easy and smooth as it should have been but it was theirs and it worked.

Sometimes Morse went with Max on his fishing trips. He’d read on mossy riverbanks while Max caught (or didn’t catch) their dinner. They’d retire beside a fire with a good meal and enjoy all of the small domesticities that they could fit in away from the hassle of Oxford - the hassle of anyone.

And sometimes Max was beside Morse on his own pilgrimages into echoing italian cathedrals under the ethereal gazes of saints and martyrs. Together they would listen to ascendant choirs raise their voices and both found that if God existed at all, that this was the closest that any man would ever come to him.

And on that sunny weekend when a silvering Morse, now an Inspector, joined Max in the garden to learn about his bees, the doctor very formally introduced him to the hive. Puzzled, Morse couldn’t help but ask, “Do you always talk to them?”

“Of course,” Max said lightly, “It’s an old tradition. One should always tell the bees the goings on of the household, Morse. Milestones, births and deaths. New additions...” He then adopted a mildly sheepish expression, “I think I’ve gotten rather used to chattering away at them. It’s therapeutic.”

Morse agreed with a smile and a shrug, “People talk to their cats and dogs. Why not bees?”


	3. Chapter 3

When Morse found out that Max had a stroke he’d been on a case and that meant it wasn’t an option to be anywhere else. He made a point to call the man's niece once he’d found a moment, but by the time he was free to see him Max was already home.

Morse over compensated for unspoken concern by fussing and it wasn’t well received by the recovering doctor. Debryn assured him that diet changes and medication would work this all out but there was an unexpected pang when it went unsaid that Max wouldn't be able to work any longer, at least not in the capacity that he had been. Max gruffly brushed through it but Morse had never known a Max who wasn’t working.

“ _Really_ ,” Max grumbled as they both settled in on the sofa for the evening. Dinners were lighter these days and they couldn’t drink like they used to, “it could have been much worse.”

“Max, you’ve had a _stroke_. I think I’ve a right to be worried _,_ ” Morse sat beside him and tangled their hands together. Despite his grumbling Max’s hand firmly squeezed around his own.

“A trans ischemic attack,” Max corrected with a grunt.

“A _mini-stroke_ , yes, I am aware,” Morse said snappishly before sighing and leaning into the other man's shoulder. Mortality, for the first time in a long time, felt dangerously fragile as they sat quietly and unwound.

Max’s head had tilted to press into Morse’s silver hair and after a long moment of quiet he spoke with that low gravel he'd acquired in his old age, “Morse.”

“Yes, Max,” Morse wasn’t sure when his eyes had closed but he now cracked them open a sliver.

“When I’m gone-” Max started only to be interrupted.

“Oh _please_ , Max,” Morse groaned stubbornly, “None of that. Not right now.”

“ _When I’m gone,_ ” Max repeated emphatically, “I am a doctor, not an imbecile. I _will_ die, Morse, and so will you. Frankly it’s amazing you’re still buggering around at all with the way things have gone over the years-”

“Thank you for that,” Morse said sarcastically.

“When I’m gone,” Max he repeated again matter-of-factly, “Make sure you tell them for me.”

Morse tilted his head curiously and squeezed his hand, “Tell who?”

“The bees,” Max said softly. “Make sure you tell them I’m gone. Tell them they’ll be taken care of, tell them not to leave.”

Morse closed his eyes again and pulled their joined hands to his lips to press a kiss to Max’s wrist as something painful took root in his chest, “Of course, Max.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Following the canon of Inspector Morse TV in regards to Max's health.


	4. Chapter 4

Morse let himself in to Max Debryn’s house with his own key. The curtains were shut to the sunny day beyond and the house, for the first time ever, seemed unwelcoming of his disturbance. Each step through the familiar halls hit something painfully hollow inside him but Morse couldn’t stop to mourn as it was taking every shred of his fortitude to try and stem the flood of memories.

He passed the spot in the hall where they’d first kissed, sopping wet from the rain and younger in his fond memory than he was sure they had been in reality. He bypassed the stairs, trodden up and down over many years to a bedroom they had often shared through both amory and anger. Morse couldn’t even look into the parlor for fear he’d find fresh remnants of Max there, things he’d touched only days before, things that still had his hand on them. An unfinished crossword or an old teacup would wrench the heart from him.

Morse wouldn’t dare a glance at the sofa they’d spent evenings on, where he’d told Max one night that he loved him and Max had laughed, kissed him, and told him that he knew. Max had said that he was sure Morse loved everyone in some way or other, and then laughed again when Morse flushed with the offense and told him petulantly that this was _different._

He passed the powder room and tried not to pick up the scent of the hand soap that somehow hadn’t changed brands in years. Here where Morse had charged in, red faced and huffy, to berate the doctor for taking a trip without telling him. They had been fresh and new then, before either had worked out just what this was. Here in the powder room they both realized it wasn’t possessive jealousy that drove these reactions, but worry. Max caved under those eyes as he would many times and he took Morse’s cheeks in his hands as he was struck by the man’s softness, “I’m sorry I didn't tell you. It slipped my mind until I was already well and gone. It was inconsiderate of me under the circumstances and I will endeavour to always tell you in the future.”

And Morse, in his momentary state, must have twitched or tensed because Max’s eyes slowly widened, “Endeavour?”

Morse’s grimace had been telling and Max smiled appreciatively, “Maximilian.. Theodore.. Siegfried.”

It certainly had alleviated the mood.

Morse moved beyond into the kitchen where Max had taught him the proper way to hold a baby with a bag of flour when he’d panicked in his elation upon discovering he would be an uncle. Over the years, at this kitchen table, Morse had lamented his many failed relationships and even Max, one memorable night, had broken down and shared the loss of someone close to him. He'd told Morse about the man who could have been his great love if the world had been a bit different a bit sooner. Morse ached for him and held his hand as he was told about the disease that took him away.

Max had never seemed so broken and Morse had never wanted more to be able to fix him.

Max had told him that he loved him that night, after years and years, and though Morse had known it already, to hear it was a singularly memorable moment. He also knew that Max was feeling time and loss very keenly and he reassured him in the only way he knew how: being there.

Morse made his way into the back yard and took a deep breath of the sweet air. The garden was wild with recent rain and a lack of tending and the high shrubs were less preened than usual. They looked wild and unkempt, as if they knew Max had gone and were staging their own private rebellion. Morse went straight to the hive without bothering to put on protective equipment. He hadn’t the heart for the effort.

While moving through the house had been like slow motion, the approach to the hive was light speed. He was suddenly just there in the warm sunlight amongst the quiet buzzing. Morse took a breath, closed his eyes and spoke,

_"Before them, under the garden wall,_

_Forward and back_

_Went, drearily singing, the chore-girl small,_

_Draping each hive with a shred of black._

_Trembling, I listened; the summer sun_

_Had the chill of snow;_

_For I knew she was telling the bees of one_

_Gone on the journey we all must go.”_

His voice cracked and Morse reached for the hive in a desperate effort to ground himself. His fingers settling on the edge and the bees hovered lazily but did not sting.  One lighted on the back of his hand and Morse focused on it. He swallowed thickly and his eyes welled as he broke for the first time in decades without Max there to put him back together, “ _Stay at home, pretty bees, fly not hence.._ Your master is dead and gone.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welp.


	5. epilogue i.

“Bees, sir?” Lewis questioned his governor skeptically.

“Yes, Lewis. Bees,” Morse managed to make transporting beehives sound like it wasn’t a particularly difficult idea to grasp and that to question it was absolutely idiotic.

“I know you and Doctor Debryn were friends for a long time, sir,” Lewis also knew more than that but he was ever polite about it, “and he was a bit peculiar, mind. God rest his soul...”

Morse couldn’t help being amused by that addage, “But?”

“But… _you,_ sir? With bees?” Lewis sounded incredulous.

“Are you implying I’ve no knowledge or interest in apiculture, Lewis?” Morse was a master of sounding accusatory while also playing himself the victim. “I’ll have you know I’m well educated on beekeeping. After all, as you said,” His emotions were safely buttoned up now and his mourning would happen in his own time. “Dr. Debryn and I were friends for a very long time.”

“Of course, sir,” Lewis hung his head a moment and scrunched his face in acceptance. “I’m just not sure what I’m doing here. You know Val’s breathing down me neck about repainting our Lyn’s room and it’s our first day off in-”

“ _Obviously_ Lewis,” Morse piped with his hands in his pockets and a bounce in his heels as he cut his sergeant off, “I need someone to do the heavy lifting. And drive the truck. Beehives don’t move on their own.”

Lewis groaned.

“And on the ride I can educate you on the very interesting history of honey and its uses..” Morse smiled.


	6. epilogue ii.

Lewis brought two bottles to the patio where the slim outline of James Hathaway was illuminated by the flash of a lighter.

“You’re sure the new flat isn’t too small?” James asked lightly as he accepted the bottleneck between two fingers.

“Nah,” Robbie sipped his beer and thrust his free hand into his jeans pocket. In the dark the lawn was unremarkable and the patch he planned on turning into a garden was nothing but turf. The yard was ringed with hedges enough for a bit of privacy and besides the bare clothes line nothing else stood out besides the dark square shape in the distance. The small interior had been a trade off for first floor access and a private garden. The pair of men stepped off of the cement patio and moved out across the lawn to the single beehive that sat there in the darkness.

James exhaled his smoke upwards, “Smoke mellows the bees. A lot of beekeepers would swear by cigarettes or cigars while they worked. Some even mixed tobacco into their smokers.”

“You don’t need to justify yourself lad,” Robbie chuckled and sipped his beer. He had a modest education in beekeeping after all. He’d had a good teacher.

James’ cigarette was put back between his lips again and his now free hand curled around the loop of Robbie’s arm easily. He squinted out at the hive in the dark and slouched against the older man’s side. Robbie returned the lean.

“There’s a tradition you know,” James murmured around his cigarette before he plucked it away from his mouth again. He turned to look at his partner, “You tell the bees if anything happens. Any news of the household. Births, deaths, anything important. You ask the bees to stay and do well for the next owner, especially if the beekeeper has died. You should drape a black cloth and invite them to the funeral.”

Robbie was smiling but when James caught the look he was sure it looked a bit sad.

“Aye lad,” Lewis’s hand extracted from his pocket to tangle with James’s and he turned them away from the hive towards the house, “That one I may have heard.”

James squeezed his hand, “There are reports that the bees actually have attended.”

“Planning my funeral already?” Robbie waited as James put his cigarette out right before the back door.

“Innocent does say we’ll put one another in an early grave,” James smirked and stepped close as his arms went around Robbie’s waist.

The older man glanced up at him and responded dryly before a smile and a kiss, “Well, lad, let’s hope she tells the bees.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not sorry. Thanks for reading!!


End file.
